Every Man Will Do His Duty
by JayBird45
Summary: The year is 1805, and HMS Leviathan is at Trafalgar, fighting for her life...  With a young Scottish midshipman and a displaced Austrian prince aboard. AU fic taking them back in time.
1. England

21st October 1805

This must be what Hell smelt like, smoke and blood and sweat running along Alek's face. And it hurt. God, it hurt everywhere, a poker pressing white-hot into his ribs, hurting, hurting so bad he wanted to scream. His legs didn't seem to be able to cope, they were soft like cotton fabric, like his mother's dresses...

"_Mutter,"_ Alek gasped. _"Mutter, hilfe mich, bitte, bitte, bitte,"_

_Mother, help me, please, please, please..._

The hands holding at his coat tightened and Alek yelped as more of his weight was taken.

"Shu'p, y'daft sod." The voice was burred with a thick accent. "We're almos' there, see?" Dylan. Always Dylan, voice a little quicker and higher than usual now. "Stop gree'in', would y'?"

It was hard to understand the words. Unfamiliar, sounding like metal striking off glass, not the crisp pronunciation Alek was used to. He could normally make out meaning in the thick Glasgow brogue, but it hurt and it hurt and the sounds washed over his head. It was so loud down here, loud and hot and smoke catching his eyes, so many people...

"_Hilfe ich, mein Gott..."_

_Help me, my God..._

"For the love o' Christ." Face, pale, streaked with black, narrow features, bending towards him. "Y' dinna need God, Alek. Y' go' me."

Hurting, hurting like the fire. So much fire and so much noise, noise everywhere, inside his head and out of it, hurting and hurting and hurting and hurting...

"Get yer arse doon here. Aye, tha's reet. Y'll do fine Alek. Surgeon'll see t'you soon, after all these others, go' i'?"

"_Ja..." _It hurt. It was darker down here, and smelt like rust. Like blood. Everywhere had blood, all the people and all the wood and screaming.

"I've go' tae go noo, see? Back soon." A hand around his arm, quick squeeze and Dylan had slipped away again, and he was here and it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt –

_This is more of an introduction than anything else - there'll be several chapters coming up. Please do read and review this, and any constructive comments would be very gratefully recieved. _


	2. Expects

It had begun on the cold night when Alek first saw the _HMS Leviathan. _Not majestic or regal, but sick and wounded as it limped along near the shore, men and boys swarming over it and trying to steady her listing hull and sails. Alek wasn't meant to be out of the cottage where Volger had taken him – but he was sick of being told what to do all of the time, like a _child. _

Besides. He'd wanted to think about his parents.

Any fool could see the _Leviathan _was in a bad shape, and it was before Alek's eyes that she cracked against the rocks and finally lay silent along the lee shore. That was one thing he'd learnt. Every ship was a she. Never a he. Dylan had explained, grinning in his cheeky, lopsided way.

"Tha's why y' canny have a woman on board. Ship ge's jealous."

He'd been far enough away that the cries of the frightened sailors couldn't be heard, but Alek knew there would be danger for the men. After all, most sailors couldn't swim. So when he scrambled over the damp boulders, he'd been surprised to see a young boy lying unconscious in the shallows, head having been cracked hard against one of the sharp rocks.

Of course, that had turned out to be Dylan.

"Saved m' backside, y' did. Gi' y' tha'."

Alek was still at odds as to how anybody could understand the garbled mess of Glasgow pronunciations, but he'd almost gotten used to it over the weeks aboard. Volger had been furious at first when he'd learnt that Alek had gone to see the wreck, even taking some of their precious supplies over with him, and even more angry when he'd brought back Dylan and the botanist to look for other stores they could take back to the _Leviathan. _

Notwithstanding the fact this botanist happened to be female – and the ship was on a voyage to the Galapagos Islands in order for her to examine some of the more interesting creatures there, apparently.

At least, that had been their original intent. But the message, sent via a frigate had changed everything.

_The French and Spanish fleets are forming, near Cape Trafalgar. It's going to be big. _

And, naturally, the prospect of a battle – and more specifically, the prize money it would bring – changed the course of the patched-up _Leviathan _towards the Spanish coast and Trafalgar.

With Alek and his men aboard.


	3. That

The very first thing Alek had noticed about the ship was the overwhelming stench. Tar, sweat, rats, anything vile you could name, the _HMS Leviathan _reeked of it. Of course, the fact he was being taken aboard as effectively as prisoner went no way to improve his first impressions.

"They jus' canny tell fer cer'ain wha' your alliances'll be, tha's all."

"I fail to see your logic. You are keeping me prisoner, on the pretext that I _possibly might_ have alliances with Napoleon and the like, which I can assure you is _entirely_ the opposite too what is correct."

"Ach, I canny ken a word y're sayin', Alek. Speak the King's English, would y'?"

"I am not the enemy."

"Well, I can see tha'!"

Alek had been quickly acquainted with the complex workings of the ship, hastily patched up with what little could be scavenged from the countryside where they'd been wrecked. Being left primarily in the company of the two midshipmen, Dylan Sharp and Richard Newkirk was far from a hardship, although Dylan was the more forthright of the pair – something he claimed came from a Glasgow upbringing.

"Y'canny be uptight where I come from. None o' this daft stiff upper lip rubbish."

Richard, a slightly older boy with a crisp accent that eased Alek's ears and a background involving aristocratic parents and public schools, had raised an eyebrow at this last comment, but let it go otherwise unnoticed.

In short, the _HMS Leviathan _was a far from unpleasant place to be – even if they were headed towards war and the stench in the middie's heads – otherwise known as 'bogs', 'loos', or 's**thouses' – was worse than anything he had ever encountered in his life.


	4. Every

15th October, 1805

Deryn grinned as the guns roared into life, spitting fire out of their mouths like fairy-tale dragons. Sweetly done. All of the men – each and every one – knew their duty, and the daily drills had made them fast and strong at loading and firing the guns, twice as fast as any French crew could do it.

Twice as fast meant twice as many shots fired, and they were going to need to fire as many as they could to win this battle. After all, the French and Spanish crews might be less disciplined and less well-led, but there was no denying they had the better ships. Like the legendary _Santissma Trinidad, _all 130 guns of her. The _Leviathan _was a steady third rater, 74 guns, but imagine coming up to something like that...

"Vat happens now?" asked a quiet, voice beside her, accented. Alek, once again asking questions.

"We drill more," replied Deryn shortly. "Well. The crews drill."

"But you said-"

"Shut up, would you? And watch out for the powder monkeys." Deryn slipped out of the way of a skinny rat of a boy maybe two years younger than her, haring down towards the powder magazine to pick up a cartridge. They'd probably not fire properly again today – the captain wouldn't want to waste their remaining shot on drilling.

There was a constant stream of boys, early teens or so, holding the powder boxes under their jackets as they scrambled back to the other five or six men of their crew. Probably, reasoned Deryn, one of the worst jobs in a battle. If even a spark caught the powder...

But that was a role of common ship's boys. Midshipmen were officers, albeit junior ones. She'd worked her backside off to get here, finding the money for uniform and posting, and wasn't about to give it up now.

Besides. She'd heard plenty of tales about women in port below decks. If she got found out as a midshipman – it would be a dismissal, probably. Matter hushed up. All very embarrassing.

But Deryn had seen enough young girls on the streets of Glasgow to work out what might happen to someone unfortunate enough to be born female and stuck _below_ decks with several hundred very frustrated men. And it wasn't pretty.

_I just wanted to say thank you to everyone that's reviewed so far - it helps seeing all your comments, though I DO realise the original series is set in 1914! I hope you enjoy the next few chapters, which focus more on the actual action of Trafalgar rather than this long build up, and thank you if you're reading this too!_


	5. Man

21st October 1805

"Signal, sir!" called Deryn, scurrying down from the rigging quick as a monkey. She'd been sent up there with the topmen to try and scour the fleet for any sign of a signal from the _Victory – _Nelson's famous flagship. And sure enough, there had been one.

_Enemy coming out of port._

It was starting.

Deryn scrabbled down towards the midshipmen's berth, blinking away the fug of the early morning. Their hammocks were near the orlop deck – where the surgeon did his business during battle.

Not that she wanted to think about that.

"NEWKIRK! FERDINAND!" Neither of them stirred at the sound of their surnames. "ALEK! RICHARD!" This, to her surprise, actually got a response.

"Muugh."

Aha. Life from Alek.

"Gerrup, you daft sod." Deryn added a friendly poke through the thick canvas of the hammock for good measure.

"_Nein. Ich bin Schläfrig..." _

Deryn stopped at the sound of a new German word. "What was that?"

"I'm sleeeeepy..."

* * *

><p>Alek was far from understanding Dylan's nervy excitement as the two forces began to square up against one another through the long morning. The boy was bouncing off the walls, or rather the rigging, throwing himself around with careless abandon that both shocked and irritated Alek.<p>

"Stop being an idiot, Dylan!"

"Y're jus' jealous!"

Alek was far from happy, though. This wasn't his war. He shouldn't be here, as Volger agreed in no uncertain terms. They weren't even some small and insignificant little ship at the back – the _HMS Leviathan _was fourth in Nelson's column, as Dylan proudly explained.

"See? We're goin' tae sail face on towards the other fleet."

"They are facing side on to us."

"Aye."

"Their guns are pointed at _us_, and we're sailing right towards them - our guns in entirely the wrong position?"

Dylan shrugged. "Aye. Seems tha' way."

"Seems insane to me. Frankly."

And then, a little before midday, Dylan had rushed back to the deck, grinning all over his face.

"Another signal, sir!"

Alek watched as the lieutenant sighed and turned. "Yes, Sharp. What now?"

"_England Expects That Every Man Will Do His Duty," _reported Dylan. "Tha's what Nelson says."

The lieutenant made a face. "Very well, although I do wish the man would stop signalling and get on with the real business. I shall report it to the crew."

Alek's ears were ringing for a minute afterwards at the cheers that went up.


	6. Will

When Deryn saw Alek fall, her heart fell right through her stomach and out onto the slippery deck. Scarlet blood, like a poppy, spreading out from his side, where the wood had sliced into him. She swore and grabbed at his arm, hauling him back upright. If only the bloody idiot had ducked out of the way...

Stuff that. It was Alek. He was royal. He would _never _duck out of the way.

Alek's face was pale and he groaned as Deryn tried lifting him onto her shoulders. He was muttering in German, words Deryn could only half-understand.

But _mutter _sounded pretty close to 'mother'.

There wasn't any time to be scared. Just enough time to act, that was all, huddling Alek down to the orlop deck and then tearing herself away, biting away swearwords. If only they hadn't been stationed up on the quarterdeck where the worst of shots were falling, if only she'd kicked Alek to get him down, if only...

The carnage hadn't stopped. If anything, Deryn thought it had got worse. The bulk of the _Santissma Trinidad _was right in front of them, barring their way. No, they weren't alone in fighting her, but the ship was terrifying rising out of the thick smoke, darkening the Spanish sky into a dusky twilight.

You had to put anything unnecessary out of your mind. Keep your head, you'll do alright. That was what she'd been told, what she knew was true, but Alek lying with eyes closed and propped against a bulkhead... He wasn't just a shipmate, it was - it was _Alek. _

Deryn knew she was losing her concentration. That was why she wasn't particularly surprised when an enormous crash exploded somewhere over her head and she fell backwards, tripping over her own feet and yelling involuntarily as the hard deck came up to meet her –

Then it was black.

_Short, I know, but... If you've read this, I'd appreciate a review a lot, to know whether you've enjoyed it, and the stuff I could improve - it's the history that drew me rather than the writing to do this, so comments on how it's been written would be helpful. _


	7. Do

Deryn came round with a sickening headache. She blinked and groaned as black and red streaked across her vision, then waited until it cleared and she could see again. _Jesus..._

"Dylan?"

She turned at the sound of Alek's voice, but her head reeled and the walls began to spin. It was raining outside. Hard.

"Dylan? Are you well?"

Deryn laughed quietly, putting a hand up to the back of her head, where it hurt most. There was a bandage there. "Y' daft sod, Alek." Then a memory sparked from somewhere at the back of her mind – blood and German - and she sat up a little more to look at him. "Alek?"

"_Ja."_

"You're alright?"

Alek smiled at her. "Just about. You were... _Bewusstlos_. I don't know the word. Dylan-"

"What?" asked Deryn, hearing her voice a little grumpier than she'd meant it to be. Her head ached, although she was becoming more aware of where she was. Not in sickbay, it was too nice for that, but in a cabin – Barlow's.

Alek's voice came out quiet. "Dylan, I did not think you would wake."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be daft." But she didn't say it harshly. "Alek, didn't you get hit?"

"You noticed."

"Of course I did, you-" But she stopped. "You're alright, though?"

Alek laughed. "I said I was. Go back to sleep. You're tired."

Deryn grinned back, but something struck her. "Alek - there's no guns firing."

"You won."

"We did?" _Thank God! _

_"Ja. _Go back to sleep."

As Dylan's eyes closed again and he curled into a ball, Alek's mind turned back to the scenes in the orlop deck and the ache pounding around his ribs. Darkness and pain as they took out the splinter, the size of a man's hand and sharp as a dagger, then more pain as the wound was stitched back up again. There were men there with worse injuries, arms and legs severed, and the young Irish boy yelling for his Mam as they tried to patch up the wound striking across his face.

He'd died.

Alek had thought Dylan was going to die too, when he saw the boy being brought down to the murky deck, pale and dead to the world, just like the first time Alek had seen him. The wound across the back of his head was bleeding through his sandy hair and the boy hadn't moved as one of the surgeon's mates sewed and bandaged it.

Volger was the one that ordered the movement of them to Barlow's cabin, striding in straight towards Alek was lying, chest on fire.

"You are not staying here. I refuse it to be so."

Of course, being Volger, his orders were honoured, and within the half-hour, he'd been carried to the comfortable little room. Unable to sleep - it hurt too much - he'd listened instead. The _Leviathan's _cornering and capture of a French ship. The news of the victory late in the afternoon, and, soon after, the news Nelson the admiral had died. Alek was perfectly content to lie there and listen as the wind began to blow a little harder, and the rain patter on the deck above his head.

A storm was coming.

_Bewusstlos = German for unconcious. Thank you, Google Translate. I'd like to apologise to any native German speakers for murdering your language in this story - now, and in the next couple of chapters. I know a little, but it's mostly insults and swearwords... I going to warn you now, the last chapter, Duty, may be a while in coming, because I haven't written it yet. It'll also be long. I think. _


	8. His

24th October 1805

The weather was horrible. Almost immedietly after surrender of the Combined Fleet, a storm had struck up, the worse Deryn had seen yet. The ship had sailed for safety to Cadiz, and they were trying to shelter in a small cove, near the _Africa _and the _Bellephron. _

Deryn was on her feet the day after the battle, but Alek was taking longer. He was lucky though, she knew that. He had a mild fever for a day or so, but it fell away and there didn't seem to be a sign of any further infection, thank God. He was cheerful, spending time reading the books stored away in Barlow's cabin and dismissing most of the them as 'Godless', but Deryn could forgive him for that.

Daft sod that he was.

But he was leaving soon, when they reached Gibraltar, along with his mentor Volger. If she was going to tell him... Deryn wondered whether she should tell Richard as well, but decided against. She had to serve with him for goodness knows how long. And she... Well, she liked Alek.

Oh, _Lord._

She kicked at the door to Barlow's cabin with her foot, shoving it open best she could with a tray held in her hands. "Alright, _your Highness?"_

He grinned at her. "Why yes, Dylan. Why do you feel the need to say it in that tone?"

"Look at you, all comfortable there in a bunk while the rest of us graft away sorting the old lady _Leviathan _out..." Alek laughed at this. Deryn could see his face was paler than it should be. "Look, Alek-"

"What?"

"You were brave out there. When it came to it, I mean. You... You stood up, like. Even if you didn't have to."

"Of course I had to."

Deryn wasn't sure how to answer this one, so shoved the tray down on the floor instead. The _thing, _the thing she had to say, was crawling around in her belly and she bit her lip.

"Dylan? Is your head hurting you?"

"What? No, it's not that. Look, Alek?"

"What?"

"Just... Alek, I've got something to tell you."

"Tell it to me, then."

Deryn clenched her fists, took a deep breath and prepared to do her duty.

_Duh, duh, duh..._


	9. Duty

"Oi! Sharp!"

Deryn spun around to see Newkirk leaning against the door, hair plastered down around his face with rain. "What?" Her hands were sticky with sweat.

"Do you plan to take out a boat, or not?"

Deryn groaned inwardly. Her and Newkirk had been tasked with each taking out a small group of men to the captured ships, in order to pick up the prisoners. The French and Spanish vessels weren't in any shape to withstand the storm, and there were stories of the water being up around the knees of the stranded men. "Aye. Give me a minute, would you?"

"No time. Get a move on, would you?"

There wasn't any point in arguing. Deryn slowly reached out a hand for her thick wool watchcoat – it'd be needed in this weather. As she shrugged it on, she pushed her hand down into one of the deep pockets.

"Alek?" she asked.

"What?"

"Look after this for me." She tossed him the little tarnished coin, hung on a stained ribbon. "My Da's medal, don't want to lose it."

"Dylan..." groaned Newkirk.

Deryn rolled her eyes. "Keep your hair on. See you later, Alek."

The wind was raw outside, and Deryn hunched further into her coat as she went out onto the deck. _I didn't do it... I still didn't do it..._ There was a group of men waiting there, near to the little jollyboats used for going ashore or alongside other ships.

"Let's get this show on the road, then," she said, blowing on her fingers. Most of the men she barely knew, although that surly American gunner had been roped in. As usual, he was looking sour, but that didn't surprise her. He'd been pressed into service, taken off an American merchant ship and made to serve in the Navy, much to his dislike. Not an unusual case, by any means, but-

"Ready, sir?" This was asked by a short, skinny rat of a boy, a couple of years older than her, with a broad country accent.

"Yes. We'll be as quick as we can."

She followed the men into the boat, and they cast off into the stormy sea, heading towards the nearby hulks bobbing up and down with the swell.

"A little more to larboard..." muttered Deryn as they neared. "Aye, that's better."

The French sailors were lugged aboard the little boat, most of them half soaked with the water rising up through the hold of their ship. Deryn could feel they were lying lower in the water, but she hated to have to tell the next person they'd get left behind until the next trip, so she kept taking them on. After a little while, though, it was enough.

"Stop! We'll have to come back." She was having to shout to be heard over the wind. "Steer her about and let's get back to the _Leviathan." _

As the sailors took up the oars and began to turn around, Deryn could feel the weight of the boat rocking and lurching under her. God, they were heavy. As a particularly large wave rose up to meet them, one of the _Leviathan's _sailors – she couldn't tell who – yelled and dropped his oar. Cursing, he bent over to try and retrieve it from the boiling sea.

"STOP IT!" yelled Deryn, grabbing out towards him. "YOU'LL SINK US!" His weight was too much, they were tipping over and over –

With every inch of her strength, Deryn heaved the man back onto the boat, arm screaming and her fingers numb with the cold. But his weight was working against hers, and Deryn felt herself tumble head over heels and it was cold so cold and it was heavy and cold and she couldn't move and her Da picked her up in his arms and he was there and it was cold –

* * *

><p>The only thing that spreads faster than fever on ships is rumour. When Alek had first heard from a breathless, shivering Newkirk about the drowning of Midshipman Sharp, he hadn't believed it. Couldn't. The boy was too bright, too full of restless nervous energy for that. He couldn't be... He couldn't be dead.<p>

But everything people were saying that day told him otherwise. He'd fallen into the stormy sea, dragged down by the heavy coat he was wearing. There were whispers too. About how the sailors had grabbed hold of his collar, pulling him back onto the jollyboat and hoping to somehow revive him.

Surely those rumours couldn't be true as well. Not about... Not about what they'd seen when they'd taken the body down to sickbay to remove the clothes, so they could be auctioned off and the money sent to his family.

A couple of evenings after the drowning, Alek went out onto the main deck. His wound was healing, and he had heard the ship was bound east, towards Constantinople. Volger had some plan to escape, to doubt. Sitting in a huddle was a group of sailors, talking quietly among themselves to stay awake over the long hours of the night watch. One was singing, and Alek noticed the fine tenor of his voice – as good as any of the opera singers he had heard at home, although in a different way, the tune lilting and soft. The song was some ballad, but it wasn't until Alek began listening to the words that he felt an unfamiliar thumping begin in his chest, at his heart.

"_With jacket blue and trousers white,  
>Just like a sailor neat and tight,<br>The sea it was the heart's delight,  
>Of the female rambling sailor.<br>From stem to stern she freely goes  
>She braves all dangers, fears no foes<br>But soon you shall hear of the overthrow  
>Of the female rambling sailor,"<em>

_Though never did her courage fail_  
><em>'Twas stormy seas and winter gale<em>  
><em>O'er this fair maiden did prevail<em>  
><em>This female rambling sailor.<em>  
><em>From stem to stern she freely went<em>  
><em>Where oft-times she'd been many<em>  
><em>Her hand did slip and down she fell<em>  
><em>She calmly bade this world farewell.<em>

_When her lily-white breast in sight it came_  
><em>It appeared to be a female's frame<em>  
><em>Rebecca Young it was the name<em>  
><em>Of the female rambling sailor.<em>  
><em>May the willows wave around her grave<em>  
><em>And round the laurels planted<em>  
><em>May the roses sweet grow at her feet<em>  
><em>Of one who was undaunted.<em>

_So, come all you maids, both near and far_  
><em>And listen to my story<em>  
><em>Her body is anchored in the ground<em>  
><em>Let's hope her soul's in glory.<em>  
><em>On the river Thames she's known real well<em>  
><em>No sailor there could her excel<em>  
><em>One tear let fall as a last farewell<em>  
><em>To the female rambling sailor."<em>

Alek stood stock still until he realised the final verse was finished. The words... In his mind, he'd seen 'Dylan's' cheeky, lopsided grin, his – _her – _quick hands tying a knot or fiddling with a pen. When they'd thrown the body overboard a few hours before, back into the deep dark of the sea, Alek had to swallow hard to keep the tears away.

His hand strayed to his pocket, and he felt there the slight weight of the medal the girl had thrust on him as she'd hurried out. On the back, her father's name was carved, and a date, two years before. Alek's hand was shaking as he turned to the rail at the side of the ship and leant out towards the wind, holding his arm out.

"_Auf weidersehen, Dylan. Du... Du hast deine pflicht gemacht._"

_Goodbye, Dylan._

_You have done your duty._

And – it sounded stupid, idiotic, but he thought...he thought he could hear a voice behind him. Dylan's.

Laughing.

"Dinna be daft, y'silly sod."

* * *

><p><em>Well – that's the end. I hope you've enjoyed this 1805 version of Leviathan. Apologies for Alek's German at the very end – not sure about the grammar there! This has been by far the longest chapter, but I'm going to inflict on you a historical note. Because I can.<em>

_-HMS Leviathan was genuinely there at the Battle of Trafalgar, and she was the same size, ect as she is in this story. And the ship also fired on the massive Santissima Trinidad – and only lost four men in the battle, a much smaller loss than could have been hoped for in such a big battle. More men were lost in the enormous storm that broke after the end of the battle, on pretty much every British ship. The Leviathan also lost many men when they were taking captured enemy sailors onto their ship at Cadiz, because of the winds and rain. They went out in small boats – jollyboats – and it's almost certain that these would have been taken charge of by midshipmen, the junior officers. _

_-There were also women on board these fighting ships. Well – one woman at least. She was called Jeanne and was found in the sea, having been disguised on a French ship as a man to follow her husband to sea. They also think there was a woman on the HMS Victory. The ballad in the story is a real one, and it's not the only folk song from the period on this theme... _

_-There was a mention of an American in this chapter. The British Navy at this time was made up of a mixing pot of races and nationalities - the sailors came from pretty much anywhere with a coastline. The Navy wasn't exactly the first career choice for most men, and so they ended up 'pressing' sailors off merchant ships, and making them serve in the Navy instead. Quite understandably, they weren't all that pleased with this arrangement... But that's another story and this note is far too long already._

_This is the very end now, so I'll let you be and stop talking history. If you've enjoyed the story, I'd appreciate you telling me so - and I'd also really like for people to comment on things I could have done better... Thanks for getting this far if you're still reading! :)_


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